Notebooks
by looking-pretty-grimm
Summary: Five years after their break-up, Yang receives a box of notebooks in the mail from Blake. They're full of notes, poems, and pictures detailing Blake's emotional and physical turmoil since they split apart. *Angst-heavy* [Death:TW]


**So, it's been a while since I've written anything. College kept me super busy, but now I'm in summer break** _ **and**_ **I'm taking next semester off, so I think I'll have plenty of time to write.**

 ***Be warned, this story is sad. Very sad. If that isn't something you came here for or if you're afraid that will be a trigger for you in any way, I urge you to back out and read something else. I don't want my writing to cause anyone any mental distress.***

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It had been a normal day thus far. A normal job with normal coworkers and a normal commute home. Normal, just like every other day.

However, the normalcy of Yang Xiao Long's evening would end as she pulled into the driveway of her suburban home, noticing the unexpected brown package on the home's doorstep.

She stepped onto the porch, eyeing the package suspiciously. A large stamp on the side of the box contained the information she had sought after, only it didn't necessarily solve any of the questions buzzing through her mind. It read " _To Yang Xiao Long_ ," along with her address. There was no return address.

Yang shrugged, aloofness and apathy replacing her once curious demeanor. She brought the box inside, nonetheless, and left it to attend to the rest of the day's arduous tasks that had yet to be done.

The box remained there for up towards a week before the girl one day stubbed her toe on it. She cursed it, originally, but soon remembered that she had yet to actually open it. She took the pain in her foot as a sign and proceeded to tear open the box. Inside where three notebooks of various colors, all neatly packed into the small box. On the top was a bright green one; quite possibly the most noticeable shade of green Yang had ever seen.

It was apparent that this notebook in particular had not been opened in some time, as the bindings cracked and popped as the book opened. On the back of the front cover was a name written in flawless penmanship Yang had only seen once before in her lifetime.

 _Blake Belladonna_.

The name sent a shiver down her spine, and a myriad of memories, both good and bad, flooded her thoughts. She hadn't seen nor heard from Blake for half a decade. Why had she sent these notebooks?

There was only one way to find out, and Yang knew it. She turned to the first page which, at the top, read " _My Dearest_."

It wasn't a title, really. It was more of an opening statement. Yang continued to read further down the page:

" _By now, I am sure she has forgotten me. It has been a year on this day, May 20_ _th_ _, 2019. She always lived in the moment, never taking the time nor energy to look to the past or the future, for why would she look to the future when it is so uncertain? So mysterious? Better yet, why should she look to her past when I am all that will greet her?_

 _Our parting words were…painful, like seawater drenching a deep wound. Initially, the pain is unbearable, that of which you have never felt before. But, slowly, the pain begins to subside, and is replaced by something many would claim to be much worse than pain. Numbness. But it is not only the wound that becomes numb; the surrounding area deadens, as well._

 _I've found no better fitting analogy, thus far. On that day, the pain I felt inside was crippling, though I knew where it stemmed from, and it was easy to pinpoint. Now, however, there is no pain. My mind is numb. My emotions, nil, with loneliness being the only exception._

 _I'm going to reminisce in this journal. Perhaps many more will be filled before I have completed my thoughts. There is much to tell._

 _Signed, Блейк Белладонна_ "

She did that often, Yang remembered. Blake would sign her name in whatever language she had been studying at the time. The girl was a proud linguist, and lived to use what she had learned.

Yang flipped to the next page, revealing another beautifully scribed note. She turned another, and another note greeted her. The entire notebook was filled with notes and poems – some large and some small. Some in English, some not. But each filled with ample loneliness and regret.

She flipped to a page about half way through the notebook and began to read.

" _The worst conceivable thing has happened. I had prepared for every emotional turmoil this life may bring my way, but never had I thought my suffering would leak onto my physical body._

 _I have been diagnosed with cancer._

 _It started slowly – small pains in my abdomen, weakness and fatigue. I entered the sterility assuming a stomach virus, only to be stricken down with the realization that I am dying._

 _I am dying._

 _No matter how many times I erase those words, reality does not alter. It does not bend to my will. Not only does my mind remain weak, my body will now deteriorate, as well. I will begin treatment tomorrow, in hopes of prolonging my life. But I fear it will only evolve into further pain._

 _Signed,_ _ブレイク・ベラドンナ"_

No. No, this couldn't have happened. How could Blake be sick? Why did no one ever tell her?

She knew why. Their relationship ended on bad terms on both sides. Yang held deep seeded anger, while Blake kept sadness and regret.

Yang flipped through the remainder of the text, skimming over poems, lyrics, and short stories, each seemingly crafted by a master. But no letters remained in the notebook, and while Yang yearned to read more of Blake's writing, her fear had gotten the best of her.

She lifted the second notebook from the box and opened it, revealing a scrapbook. Pictures of Yang and Blake together littered the pages. Blake had always been very fond of taking pictures, claiming they would "solidify the moment." Yang now realized the girl was correct as she flipped through their many pictures together. Entire pages were dedicated to their trips they would take during summer vacation, and it was clear this scrapbook had been created during that time.

There were photos of their trip to France, their hikes through the mountains near their college campus, the fall festival at the fairgrounds…their first kiss on the Ferris wheel.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she remembered the pictures being taken, each flash of the camera having burned the memories into her pupils. They were so happy then. On the top of that Ferris wheel, they were the queens of the world. Nothing could ever stand in their way, so long as they had each other.

The pictures took a shift for the worst in the later pages of the notebook. Yang wasn't in these pictures. In fact, there wasn't anyone in them at all. These photos were…bleak, dark. Half of them were pictures taken through her bedroom window, but Yang couldn't tell if they were at dusk or dawn. Each polaroid had a date written on them in marker, unlike the ones previously, but they stopped abruptly in June of 2021. The last picture was a point-of-view shot of her torso and legs on her bed. She was wearing a nightgown, much like the one's she had worn years ago, but her body was frail. Her legs and feet had become scrawny from underuse, most likely caused from her sickliness.

That was the last photo in the notebook, and there were still several pages left unfilled.

Yang wiped the moisture from her eyes and cheeks before retrieving the final notebook from the stack. This one was yellow and clearly very recently used. The date on the back of the front cover was very recent – only a few weeks prior.

Strangely, only one page of this notebook was filled, leaving the further pages barren.

" _Yang,_

 _You and I have not spoken in many years. I remember the night my daughter came home later than usual. She'd left the house with your sweater, and the first thing I noticed was its absence on her arrival._

 _I'm not writing you out of anger – my resentment toward you has faded. I am writing to inform you that Blake passed away in early July of 2021, in her sleep. She died peacefully._

 _Blake changed after you left. She never told me what came between you, but I trust that you had your reasons._

 _I hated you for so long. I wanted so badly to hold you responsible for my daughter's death. But, since her passing, I've begun to understand that holding grudges toward those you once loved will only lead to pain and suffering._

 _I should have told you sooner. It's already been almost two years since her death. Sometimes I still hear her laugh coming from her room. I half expect you to be there with her, telling a joke that I would surely hear later that night at dinner, but I am only greeted with an empty, lifeless room filled with dust and memories._

 _If you ever wish to visit, you know where I live. My home is open to you, and I am sorry it has taken so long for me to say that._

 _Sincerely, Aiko Belladonna"_

The next week went by in a blur, like a haze of fog had fallen over her eyes. Yang made contact with Aiko, and arrived at her home the next day. Together, they visited Blake's grave – an embodiment of past love and current sorrow.

Tears stung at the edges of Yang's eyes, threatening to let loose at any moment. There were so many things she had neglected to say to Blake. She longed to take back the horrible things she had said that night. She wished she could tell her she still loved her. But these words would be muttered upon deaf ears, as Yang had waited far too long and done far too little. Aiko's words rang in her ears, " _holding grudges toward those you once loved will only lead to pain and suffering._ "

Yang would live out her days burdened by the weight of guilt and regret, just as she had forced Blake to do years ago. But she deemed it a fitting punishment, one almost poetic in nature, and chose not to fight against it. For to deny her punishment would be to deny her past, to deny what she had done to the one she loved most.

And nothing could be more torturous than that.

Not even death.

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 **I hope you enjoyed my work. The point of this fic is to teach the reader exactly what Blake's mother taught Yang. Never hold regrets toward people you once loved. Forgiveness is the first step towards healing.**

 **Now, if you enjoyed this, you should follow and/or favorite me and this fic! Also, if you'd like to leave a review, you could totally do that. I won't judge you. In fact, it would make me really happy. Like REALLY happy.**

 **Also, if angst isn't really your thing, I've got a novel-length College!AU I'm working on, too. More info on that to come later!**


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